


the thing about glittering

by orangememesicle



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Fantasy Racism, Frenemies, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, in the vaguest sense of the word?, molly is a hot mess and we all know this to be true, no editing we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 02:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14150454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangememesicle/pseuds/orangememesicle
Summary: Yeah, yep, this man's definitely trouble. Molly's internal system for figuring that out says so. Which works just fine when he's a bit tipsy, thank you very much.





	the thing about glittering

The thing about glittering is that it's exhausting. You have to keep smiling, keep your words shiny and barbed, and act like nothing affects you.

Molly's been trying to keep it up all day, even after the difficult fight that would have killed half of them were it not for Nott's crossbow bolt to the last direwolf's eye and Jester's healing spells. He almost snaps at Jester when she asks him if he needs healing. 

Which is why Mollymauk realizes really, really needs a drink.

So he tells his friends with a flourish that he's going to go get drunk at the shitty dive bar (the one he saves for particularly awful days) and that no one can stop him. No one does. Yasha expresses her disapproval with the twitch of an eyebrow, but says nothing.

Mollymauk may not be an educated man, but he's well versed in the art of day drinking.

So here he is, in the dive bar that smells like ale and piss and sweat and body odor, downing his third shot of vodka. He doesn't even bother smiling at the barkeep, who doesn't seem to care either way. There's a certain understanding here that no one is having a good time, and no one's particularly keen on changing that.

He hands the barkeep a gold piece anyway. Far be it for him to let a bad mood get in the way of good old fashioned generosity. 

When the human man walks into the bar, Mollymauk immediately tenses.

He's dressed nicely but not extravagantly, his silver streaked black hair greased back. He's... fuck, Molly can't really tell human ages... thirty or forty? Yeah, seems like a good estimate. He walks like he's drunk, which he probably already is. The hesitance of his steps and the intensity of his glare is what immediately sets off Molly's internal alarm, though. Iron colored eyes, staring harshly from a sharp face.

Yeah, yep, this man's definitely trouble. Molly's internal system for figuring that out says so. Which works just fine when he's a bit tipsy, thank you very much.

The man walks up to the counter and orders himself a shot of rum. The whole time, iron eyes scan Mollymauk's body: horns, piercings, red eyes, tattoos, coat. He doesn't sit down.

And well, alright. Fair enough. He's a lot to look at. But the man doesn't stop staring, even after he's glanced over Molly multiple times.

Molly just orders another shot of vodka and keeps drinking. He stops at that, though. The man sitting there, staring intently at Molly like he'll stab him in the back if he looks away, and that certainly changes plans. He needs to be at least a little on guard.

Damn. He was hoping for a real bender.

"Do we have a problem?" 

The man glares harder when he hears Molly speak. "I need you to leave."

"Why ever would that be?" Molly asks, even though he already knows the answer. 

"You're disturbing the peace," says the man, scraping his fingernails on the counter. A sliver of wood gets caught beneath his nail, and he curses.

"And how's that? By existing?"

The man glances down the bar. It's eleven in the morning, so there aren't many patrons, but the few that are there seem to notice the conversation. "There are lots've places for devils to drink. But I think we'd all appreciate it if found a place with more of your kind."

Molly takes a deep breath.

First of all, he's been called a devil so many times it doesn't even really affect him anymore. Probably. 

Second of all, and just as importantly, this was his shitty dive bar first.

"There are plenty of bars for racist pricks around, maybe you should find a place with more of your kind." 

Molly sticks out his forked tongue and licks the edge of his shot glass, making sure that the man sees it. He makes eye contact the whole time. Might as well. 

"You're a real freak of nature, y'know that?"

He gives the man a switchblade smile, hopes it's sharp enough to cut through. "Why thank you."

"It wasn't meant as a compliment," says the man. 

"Oh, I know," Molly says, brandishing his smile. "I'm just choosing to take it as one."

The man grabs onto the chain dangling from Molly's left horn and tugging it. He gets close, way too close. The kind of close people only get if they're trying to kiss or threaten you. Kissing doesn't seem to be on this man's mind. (Probably. Molly's met people into weirder shit.) His breath smells like spiced rum. "I was being polite before."

"That was polite?" Molly says. He grins at the man. Grinning, he has to keep grinning. "I'm curious to see what impolite looks like."

"I can show you." The man pulls so hard on Molly's horn chain that it hurts, and he almost lets out a yelp.

Okay, so he could leave. Just tell this guy he's leaving, try and deescalate the situation. He could just go back to the Leaky Tap, complain to Fjord and Jester about it, and move on. That's a thing he could do. Or he could do the immensely stupid thing and try and fight this guy, which would be at least interesting.

Ah, what's life without immensely stupid decisions? 

 

***

 

Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best stupid decision he's made. 

His ribs hurt. They're bruised, if not broken, and he a trickle of blood from his broken nose tickles his upper lip. It'll heal crooked if he doesn't find Jester. 

It's not a big deal, he tells himself. Beau gets herself into bar fights all the time. 

As he enters the Leaky Tap, staggers upstairs, shaky and maybe probably a bit drunker than he thought he was originally, he runs into Beau of all fucking people.

Gods damn it, this is really not his night. Day. Morning. Whatever. 

"Dude."

"Yeah, I know," he says. His teeth must be bloody because she winces when he smiles. "It was my own fault. Where's Yasha?"

"Out shopping. What did you do?"

Molly doesn't answer her. "You're the only person here?"

"Yes."

"Guess it's my lucky day." He mock punches the air.

"You're drunk."

"What gave it away?" 

"I don't know. You're more obnoxious than normal when you're drunk. Somehow. Also you like, said you were gonna go get drunk."

"Oh. Yes. That."

Beau unties a scarf from around her waist and shoves it into his hands. He takes it and pushes it against his nose. Fuck, his ribs hurt. 

He sits down on the hallway floor. Beau, weirdly enough, sits down with him.

"So, what'd you do?" she asks. 

"Got punched." He laughs, high pitched and strained.

"I know that, you dick. I mean what did you do to get punched?"

He could lie to her. He's lied to her a lot. But he's tired and a bit drunk and it just kind of slips out. "Some drunk asshole called me a devil and got all up in my space. Haven't had a good bar fight in a while anyways."

"So you punched him?"

"More or less. I won, took him out in a single punch."

"That's some fucking bullshit right there."

Molly laughs, then doubles over. "Fuck."

"You okay?" It startles Molly when she asks it. It probably shouldn't. He's seen Beau be a good person, even though he'll never admit that to her out loud. 

"Ribs. Think they're broken." He takes that moment to test it, pressing his fingers against his side, hisses when it sends a dull ache of pain pulsing. 

Beau drums her fingers against the floorboards, biting her lip. "That's some serious bullshit."

"What is?"

"That people have a problem with that."

"Yeah, well, you get used to it." Mollymauk hopes his smile doesn't look as fragile as it feels. "You learn that lots've people are terrible, and the best you can do is scare most people off and hope the good ones stick around. It's no big deal."

"Yeah, but just because it's normal for you doesn't mean it's not a big deal." Beau's eyes are distant as she says it, filled with hot blue lightning.

Molly wonders, not for the first time, what Beau's normal was like. He knows that people like this aren't usually carved from soft places. Privileged as she may be, this has to come from somewhere.

"I mean... You can describe the guy to me. I can go find him. Teach him not to fuck with you." 

"And why would you do that?"

"Look, I don't have a problem with the fact that you got beat up. My problem is that it's a stupid-ass reason to start a fight with someone."

Molly raises a finger and introjects, "I did throw the first punch."

"I - my point still stands. Look, you know we can help you, right?" 

He turns, and she's looking at him with bare faced sincerity. He kind of hates her for it. 

"Like, maybe ask Yasha or someone to come with you to the bar. Or me, I guess. Or you can even go out and do some dumb shit on your own and come back, I don't care. But the whole 'coming back after something bad trying to change the subject when people ask' thing is really fucking irritating."

"I live to irritate."

"Believe me, I know." Beau sighs, nudging her staff with her foot. "I'm going to keep asking who the guy was, you know."

"I know," he says. And then, maybe because he's drunk and hurt and fucking exhausted from the fight earlier today, he leans on Beau's shoulder and closes his eyes. 

She doesn't pull away.

"We're being surprisingly nice to each other today," Beau says. 

"Don't get used to it. We'll be back to normal soon anyways." He closes his eyes. "Tell me when Jester's back. I don't want my nose to heal crooked."

"Sure. Also, can we like, promise to not talk about feelings ever again? Just an idea." 

"I like that idea," Molly says. Beau's shoulder is warm, and she smells like beer and sandalwood. They'll end up talking about feelings again, he's sure of it. If for no other reason than to annoy her.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I wrote an actual thing for the first time in years. These kids wouldn't leave me alone.


End file.
